


to light the way gladly

by Lirazel



Category: Infinite (Band), K-POP RPF, K-pop, Korean Pop, Kpop-Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 16:08:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirazel/pseuds/Lirazel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When reality gets too much to handle, it's nice to imagine what it would be like to run away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to light the way gladly

Things haven’t been this bad with Myungsoo since he was filming _Jiu_ and _Sesame Player_ at the same time, shuttled back and forth on flights so constant that Sungyeol was pretty sure he didn’t even know which country he was half the time, and it was a wonder he managed to learn the ‘Be Mine’ dance at all before their comeback. Sungyeol had been really stressed then, too, filming his own drama (which he doesn’t like to think about now, about how he’d known it wasn’t that impressive but he’d been _so sure_ it was just a stepping stone on the way to better things), but his own weariness couldn’t compare to Myungsoo’s.

He recognizes the way Myungsoo is acting now from the way he was then: how he talks less and zones out even more, like he’s falling asleep on his feet with his eyes open; how he doesn’t even trust himself to pick up his camera right now, scared he’s going to drop it (but he looks empty-handed when he goes too long without it, and Sungyeol wants to place it in Myungsoo’s hands and close his own around Myungsoo’s to steady them so that he can be himself again); how he doesn’t laugh nearly as often and when he does (only ever at things Sungyeol says, like none of the other members’ jokes can break through the shell of fatigue forming around him), it comes out hysterical-edged and uncontrollable. He caught Myungsoo cleaning hair out of the trap in the shower the other night when he came in to brush his teeth, and he hadn’t had to ask: he knows Myungsoo’s losing his hair again, because that’s what he does when he’s stressed. He’s lost a bit of weight, too, his face sharper-edged and his collarbones standing out more prominently. And he falls asleep almost as soon as they get in the van, even if they’re driving only ten minutes, his head dropping to the shoulder of whoever’s next to him (and no one pushes him away, not even when he starts drooling). 

Sungyeol hates it. Hates it whenever it’s like this for any of them—when he thought Dongwoo was going to waste away to nothing during Infinite H performances, when Gyu walked around with eyes so swollen they couldn’t even make jokes about him not being able to see when he was filming two shows in addition to promoting ‘Man In Love.’ Sungyeol is the one most likely to tear off on rants about how none of this is fair and the company is taking advantage of them or whatever; Sunggyu tells him to shut up and stop being ungrateful (‘You knew what you were signing up for, Lee Sungyeol, just like the rest of us’) and Dongwoo tries to twist it till it’s not so bad, but Sungyeol chafes against this life in ways the others don’t. Woohyun gives him lectures after interviews sometimes (his lectures are different than Sunggyu’s, not patronizing with leader power and hyung wisdom, but pleading and concerned) not to complain about how they can’t date or how tired they are. “The fans don’t like to hear those things, Sungyeollie. We have to keep them happy.”

Sungyeol feels that way himself, most of the time, because he is grateful for them and how they make it possible for him to do this, but sometimes he wants to tell the fans to go fuck themselves because if it weren’t for them, none of this would be happening.

He wants to tell _everyone_ to go fuck themselves when Myungsoo stumbles in one afternoon, drama makeup smeared around his eyes, looking more wiped than Sungyeol has seen him in a long time. It’s quiet in the dorm, for once, the others at the studio or the gym or at schedules, but Sungyeol had needed a moment of escape and has been sprawled out on the floor of the living room with all the lights off, relishing the cool and the silence. 

Myungsoo tries to smile at him when he sees them, but it’s like the muscles in his face are too tired to actually do it, so all he manages is a twitch of his mouth. For some reason it’s the last straw ( _my best friend is so tired he can’t even **smile** at me_ ) and Sungyeol stumbles to his feet.

Myungsoo’s just sort of standing there, just inside the door, like he isn’t sure how to keep moving forward now that he’s stopped, and he’s looking at Sungyeol like he wants to be told what to do next. (Every minute of his life has been so scheduled and arranged lately that he’s probably forgotten how to make decisions on his own. The thought makes Sungyeol’s chest burn.)

But Sungyeol can tell him, Sungyeol can plan out his next few moments for him, and not by piling more responsibilities on him, but by giving him what he really needs. “C’mere,” he says, and he reaches out, his hand splaying over the back of Myungsoo’s head to tug him forward. 

Myungsoo does as he’s told, tripping forward and against Sungyeol, letting Sungyeol pull his head against his shoulder. Sungyeol can feel Myungsoo’s hands fist around them hem of his shirt, the heat of Myungsoo’s breath against his neck, and he doesn’t remove his own hand, holding Myungsoo’s head down.

They stand like that for a long moment, the only sound their breathing and the hitch and hum as the air conditioning kicks on, flooding the room with even cooler air. It’s a bit too cold for Sungyeol’s taste, but he’s glad of it; Myungsoo will like it. 

Finally Sungyeol gives Myungsoo’s head a squeeze and then jerks him back a bit by a handful of hair. “Go get a shower, okay?”

Myungsoo nods, his nose bumping over the bone of Sungyeol’s shoulder before he sniffles and pulls back, obediently padding into the bathroom.

Clean sheets will make him happier, Sungyeol knows; Myungsoo is the neatest out of all of them. Sungyeol grabs a set out of the dryer (he thinks they’re Hoya’s, but whatever, Hoya can deal with it if he doesn’t like it) and heads to Myungsoo’s room but pauses at the door. Sungjong and Sunggyu will both be quiet and respectful; they know how badly Myungsoo needs rest and neither of them are selfish in that way. But it doesn’t seem enough, somehow, and Sungyeol finds himself in his own room, tugging his sheets (he doesn’t remember the last time he changed them) off the bed and putting the new ones on. He’s not very conscientious about it—it always drove his mom mad, how he couldn’t get the angles and tucks sharp—but he doesn’t care about the sloppiness. It’s not like Myungsoo’s going to complain.

He hears the bathroom door open as he finishes and goes out into the hall. That was a quick shower, the kind they take when they only have a few minutes till they have to leave the house, slapping on soap or body wash and scarcely getting the shampoo out of their hair before hurling themselves out of the shower and barely taking the time to pat dry before pulling clothes on. Myungsoo always takes long, very hot showers when he gets the chance (way hotter than Sungyeol’s sensitive skin can handle, but Myungsoo seems to love the heat, paradoxically enough, since he can’t stand warm temperatures that don’t include water), and Sungyeol had thought he’d take one today. He must be even more tired than he looks. 

Myungsoo is wandering towards his room in a ratty old t-shirt and loose shorts, rubbing a towel over his still-wet head. 

“C’mere,” Sungyeol says again, and Myungsoo looks over at him, cocking his head in confusion, but obeying. Sungyeol steers him into his bedroom and over towards the bed while Myungsoo is trying to look over his shoulder for an explanation.

“You can sleep in here so no one will bother you,” Sungyeol explains hurriedly, voice brusque, but he’s never comfortable with this sort of thing, or at least not talking about it. He prefers to just do it, being kind to his friends, instead of talking about it, which always makes him feel itchy and exposed.

Myungsoo lets himself be pushed into bed, letting out a long sigh when his head hits the pillow, and when he attempts another smile, it works marginally better this time, the edges of his mouth twitching up a little higher, the corners of his eyes crinkling a bit. Sungyeol grabs the towel out of Myungsoo’s hands, balls it up and tosses it into a corner, and is about to leave the room so Myungsoo can sleep when he pauses.

Myungsoo is so different than he is, needing touch as though it’s the only thing that keeps him in this world, the only thing that convinces him that everything around him is reality, and Sungyeol knows that even if he doesn’t really get it, so he lets Myungsoo press himself against his back, lets him sit closer beside him than he really needs to, lets him bump his nose against his shoulder and take sniffs of him, no matter how weird that seems to Sungyeol. But Sungyeol isn’t much for initiating; they’ve established over the years, unspoken but reliable, that Myungsoo can take what he needs, but Sungyeol isn’t going to offer. It works out well for them; Sungyeol doesn’t have to think too much about how he doesn’t mind the touching so much when it’s Myungsoo; Myungsoo gets the physical contact he needs; and neither of them have to talk about it.

But even if he never says it, Sungyeol knows just how much Myungsoo craves affection, knows that nothing makes Myungsoo feel better than to feel someone else’s body against his. And right now he’s so tired and worn down and he must feel like shit and…

Fuck it. Sungyeol doesn’t really want to do it, but he finds himself shoving Myungsoo over towards the wall and climbing into bed beside him.

Sungyeol makes sure not to look at Myungsoo’s face as Myungsoo lets out a barely audible little hum of content and scoots closer to Sungyeol, tucking his nose against Sungyeol’s neck, but Sungyeol knows he’s got that blissed-out look on his face that he gets sometimes when he and Dongwoo snuggle up on the couch or Woohyun lets Myungsoo tuck himself under his arm. Sungyeol snorts. He’s so predictable, Myungsoo. Always. He reluctantly puts his arm over Myungsoo’s waist and Myungsoo sighs happily, the puff of air fanning against Sungyeol’s neck.

“Yeol?” Myungsoo’s voice is quiet and blurry around the edges with weariness.

Sungyeol isn’t pleased. Talking was not part of this bargain. “What? Aren’t you going to sleep?” 

“Can we run away?”

Sungyeol snorts again. This kid. “What are we, twelve? You want to run away from home?”

“Yeah. Far, far away. Where we can sleep when we want and eat what we want and no one will take our pictures.”

Sometimes Myungsoo is so young it makes Sungyeol ache beneath his ribcage. “Except you, of course. You’ll take your damn camera with you and take selcas every five minutes.”

“Yeah.” Even though his voice is barely louder than a whisper, Myungsoo sounds happy at the thought. “But I won’t ever post them anywhere. Only you can look at them.”

“Why would I want to look at them? I see enough of your ugly face as it is.”

Myungsoo lets out a light laugh and wiggles closer, pressing his feet up against Sungyeol’s. “Where will we go?”

Myungsoo is like this sometimes, making up scenarios that will never happen—about going on a retreat with the members and what games they’ll play and what food they’ll take and who will set up the tents. It embarrasses Sungyeol sometimes, when Myungsoo does it in interviews and talks about what he’d do if one of them were a girl and they were dating. Sungyeol doesn’t see the point in flights of fancy like that; if you’re going to fantasize, might as well be about hot sex with gorgeous women or being an international superstar that everyone is jealous of. Not that you could talk about that in an interview—even Sungyeol wouldn’t do that. But Myungsoo’s imaginings are so small, so ordinary, that they barely seem worth the effort. But they seem to make Myungsoo happy, so Sungyeol just rolls his eyes and lets him go on about them for a while until he cuts him off before the interviewer can get too freaked out. 

Sungyeol doesn’t play along. But right now he can feel the weariness in Myungsoo (even if he thinks that should be impossible), his muscles watery with exhaustion, even his bones seem tired. Sungyeol lets his cheek rest against Myungsoo’s still damp hair; he can feel the natural texture to it now, the thick kinkiness that Myungsoo hates but that Sungyeol thinks is endearing. In the morning Myungsoo will be horrified and run for his straightener and wear a hat to the salon and Sungyeol will laugh at his embarrassment. 

“We’ll go find some island somewhere. A little one where nobody knows us and that you can only get to by boat and where they barely even have the internet and they only get three TV channels.”

“That sounds nice,” Myungsoo breathes. The cotton of his shirt is very soft underneath Sungyeol’s hand.

“We’ll live in a little shack on the beach with a fan over the beds and windows we almost never have to close because it’s sunny three hundred days of the year. We’ll be able to hear the waves all the time and there’ll be soft white sand right up to our door. And down a little path there’ll be some little bar that makes really good margaritas and has an old juke box. And I’ll get a job bartending and I’ll flirt with the ladies who come in and get good tips because everyone on this island knows everybody else and they’re nice. And you’ll take pictures of the sunset and the palm trees and sell them to tourists for way more money than they’re worth.”

Sungyeol can almost picture it, the beach bar without walls, with a concrete floor and Christmas lights looped around the pillars holding up the ceiling, the sun filtering through the colored bottles of alcohol up on the bar, a staticy TV playing a soccer game as the tan-skinned, white-teethed, taciturn locals watch and sip their drinks and scratchy old music floats in the hot air. Sungyeol flips bottles expertly and flirts with pretty girls in sarongs he knows he’ll never kiss and Myungsoo hangs over the top of the bar with his camera around his neck and his hair curly from the sea air, his skin tan against the pink of his t-shirt and his laugh careless and without any fatigue at all. 

“We’ll get a boat, a little one just big enough for the two of us and go far far out into the water till there’s no land in sight and hope some dolphins will come by. And we’ll turn off the motor and jump in the water to cool off when it gets too hot and take naps on the white leather seats when we’re tired and drink strawberry beer cold out of a cooler and only come back when the sun starts to set.” 

Myungsoo is asleep: Sungyeol can tell by the evenness of his breathing and the limpness of him against Sungyeol’s body. But somehow Sungyeol can’t seem to stop talking.

“Sometimes our brothers and our parents will come visit, but we’ll make them stay in the inn in the little town because we don’t have enough room in our place and also because we don’t really want to share it. And sometimes the other guys will come too and Dongwoo will want to fish off the pier but he won’t catch anything and Sungjong will wear a big hat and refuse to take his shirt off because he doesn’t want to ruin his skin and Hoya and Woohyun will learn to surf and Sunggyu will get shot down by the local girls because ‘how old are you?’ is the worst pickup line ever.

“But they won’t stay long and they’ll go back to whatever they’re doing at home and we’ll be glad they came but we won’t be too sad that they’re gone because they remind us too much of crowds and fans and schedules.”

And maybe—Myungsoo’s asleep, he wouldn’t hear this, but Sungyeol still can’t say it quite out loud—sometimes he’ll let Myungsoo climb into his bed and they’ll sleep like this, warm skin against warm skin, while the fan squeaks above their heads and the waves pound on the beach outside. The stars out the window will be very, very bright.

It’s a stupid little fantasy, not worth the breath it takes to tell it. But all the same, it sounds nice.


End file.
